


02:28am. Jason Todd Enters Wayne Manor.

by Live



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Arguing, Dialogue Heavy, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Live/pseuds/Live
Summary: Arguments between Dick and Bruce had tapered off after Tim had joined the family, it was just Jason’s luck that the one time he decides to sleep at the manor, is the one time they argue: loud and hard.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 282





	02:28am. Jason Todd Enters Wayne Manor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Tennants_midnight_wolf for the beta <3

_03:01am. Yelling can be heard throughout the Wayne Manor._

_03:02am. Jason Todd leaves the guest room down the hall from his old bedroom._

_03:03am. Alfred Pennyworth walks down the hall, passing Jason Todd on the stairs._

“Master Jason,” Alfred says, his tone sympathetic as he comes across Jason sat at the top of the stairs that lead to the entrance. “I was just going to the kitchen; may I interest you in a drink? Or request your company?”

Jason, even with his large muscular body, sat scrunched up on the stairs. Ass on one step and feet pulled up on the very next one. An awkward position that didn’t give much leeway to escape, but a defensive posture he never really got rid of from his time on the streets. If your body was smaller you were less of a target.

“I’ll... stay here Alfie,” he always had. Eyes transfixed on the door in front of him as the sound increased around him. “A drink would be appreciated.”

“Any requests Master Jason?” Alfred asks, always eager to help his family.

“I’d ask for something alcoholic, but...” Jason grimaces, looking over his shoulder at the large imposing door to Bruce’s study. A new reaction to these events, he’d never asked Alfred for Alcohol before, but it has been a decade since Jason was in this position. Since Jason was in this house. “I don’t think that would help.”

“A wise sentiment, indeed, Master Jason,” Alfred agrees in his stiff British way. “Hot chocolate it is.”

“Thank you, Alfie,” there is sincerity when Jason says it. There’s always sincerity when he speaks to Alfred.

“Always, Master Jason,” and then Alfred moves down the stairs. One careful step after one careful step. His stride never faltering.

Then Jason is alone. On the stairs. Arguments behind him, the door in front of him. As it was all those years ago.

_03:05am. Damian Wayne stalks out of his room; his feet heading directly to Bruce’s study._

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you baby bat,” Jason calls out, not loud enough to alert the two arguing in Bruce’s study (never loud enough for that), but loud enough that the demon brat can hear him.

Damian startles. So, intent on breaking down the door to get some peace and quiet he never noticed the bigger threat (because Todd could still be a threat if he was having a bad day) in the hallway. He leaves his task of stopping the argument, Grayson and Father would still be there if he ignored them for a second, and cautiously approached Todd. It would be a rookie mistake to turn his back on a threat.

“What are you doing here Todd?” Damian says, not kindly.

“Well, I was sleeping,” being blasé always worked for Dick (it never worked for Jason). “Now I’m waiting for hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?” You could feel the disbelief rolling off of Damian. (See being blasé never worked for Jason).

“Yes, hot chocolate,” Jason keeps the sarcasm prevalent. If he took the easy route, his every move wouldn’t be scrutinised, he’d be here at the manor with his family more often; he wouldn’t be him. “It’s this drink; a mixture of cocoa powder, hot water and milk. Pretty delicious; I’m told it’s pretty kiddy, so I’m not surprised you don’t know what it is-”

“I know, what hot chocolate is, Todd,” the tone is sharp, just like what Jason was aiming for. See, he really can’t take the easy route. Starting arguments everywhere he goes.

“Then why are you asking, baby bat?” Jason takes on a purposefully sympathetic tone. Trying to wind the brat up. “Were you trying to practice your detective skills? Aiming to be like your Father? Here’s a tip; ask more direct questions, if the other person can weasel their way out of a question you haven’t asked the right thing.”

Damian tuts; he makes the small sound seem impossibly imposing. “Both Father and Mother have given me better lessons than that, Todd. And your attempts to annoy are pitiful at best.”

“Well, can’t say I didn’t try,” Jason shrugs and you can’t. He just doesn’t always succeed and given the circumstances- _the shouting picks up; Jason’s sure he hears the word ‘dangerous’ mentioned somewhere amongst the indistinguishable sounds_ \- he can let the failure go. He’s not exactly at the top of his game. Half an hour sleep; that’s all he’s had. Half an hour sleep in a place he doesn’t register as safe; he’s sure the tossing and turning prior has thrown out his back.

Damian gives the door behind them a significant glance, understandable given the situation, before sitting down on the stairs with Jason. He sits on the top step, two steps above Jason, yet they’re practically the same height; eye level not hard to maintain if Jason looks back at Damian (he’s not sure if he wants to look back, make eye contact, there’s an ominous looking door there after all).

“I don’t trust you, Todd,” Damian says snootily; nose high in the air and everything. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” like Jason was going to start anything with Alfred around. Like he needed to start anything with everyone else starting... something. He has no idea what they’re arguing about behind closed doors. He doesn’t think he ever has.

_03:08am. An increase in the argument’s volume could be heard._

Damian resolutely looks forward, at Todd’s broad shoulders. He’s determined not to fail his self-imposed job; he will keep an eye on Todd. He will keep an eye on Todd. No inexplicable sense of dread that makes him want to watch the door forlornly will get the better of him. Father and Grayson will be fine; they always were. Todd on the other hand...

He focuses on Todd.

Todd had always had a broad back. The only person in their family that shared the same physique as Father, even though they weren’t blood related. It was both a reason to be envious and a point of contention. Trailing behind something with a large straight frame should only feel Damian with joy; it was usually an indicator that he was having some Father-Son bonding time (which he desperately craves), but then there’s Todd. Someone who is reliably unreliable. One second saving you, then next shooting a bullet in your leg. He takes all the comforts Father provides and puts a dark spin on them. Makes everything horrible and yet...

Damian doesn’t hate him. He should. Todd had shot him, even if it was a pitiful attempt, and constantly undermined Father and Grayson, but he guesses. Both sides of his family, no matter how un-functional, put a focus on family. To keep everything in the family; to only trust and rely on your family. Maybe it rubbed off somewhere, no matter how bad an idea it was. After all he trusted his mother once and that... that had ended badly. Todd had been on one of his reliable days that day; helping separate Damian from his mother before she could kill him.

Their family was just strange, and Damian was in the middle of it. Having to solve all of their problems; having to keep vigilant for everyone’s sake. So, even though there’s arguing behind him that he could solve in a second, he sits and watches his brother. Emotions conflicted. As always.

_03:09am. Cassandra Cain silently leaves her room; discovering two of her brothers awake near Bruce Wayne’s study._

Cass was silence personified. She wasn’t sure if it was a choice or her upbringing; maybe a little bit of both all things considered, but silence was her middle name. She has a bad habit of scaring everyone she meets, because she has a habit of sneaking up behind the person she wishes to speak to (that was a habit from her upbringing) and as mentioned she was silent. Dead silent.

“Are you sure you asked Pennyworth for a drink. He’s usually more punctual than this,” Damian snorts, his eyes trailing every shadow.

The youngest member of their family’s body posture reads as aggressive. A fist tightened. A scowl. Looking for a fight. Damian is prepared to poke a bear with a stick; the bear in this wonderful analogy is Jason.

“It’s been a minute brat,” Jason sighs. “Alfie can’t magic the kettle any faster.”

Jason is stressed. His hands clinging to his shirt as though he’s hanging off an edge. His body leaning ever so slightly away from Damian; avoiding all human contact. His form caving in on itself; even his floppy hair seems to droop down on his face lifelessly. A defeated frame.

“Pennywise is-” Damian cuts himself off, his back suddenly stock still and whirling around knife out. Only to come across Cass with her hand on his head.

“Shh, baby brother,” she puts a free hand to her lips, a universal gesture of silence.

Damian relaxes, turning back around and folding his arms. Acting snobbish. Cass plays with his hair, side eyeing Jason, who side eyes her right back. Behind them an arrangement of anger and disappoint can be felt through Bruce and Dick’s yells.

“Ok?” She asks Jason.

His body posture doesn’t change, but he does grin.

“Never better,” it’s an unusual response for how true and untrue it is. Though, Cass knows the best liars know where to sprinkle the truth; they have to appear somewhat truthful.

Cass hums and let’s their conversation end. The three of them stay on the stairs. It would be in silence, but...

“Can’t believe-!”

“You can-!”

The argument never falters. Never ends. Cass had come in the hopes of intervening, or at least lessening the damage once the argument had finished. But she thinks she’s better suited out here. A silent protector for her siblings.

_03:12am. Alfred Pennyworth returns with hot chocolate._

“I see we’ll need more hot chocolate, Master Jason,” Alfred states as he approaches the stairs; a silver platter held expertly in one hand.

“So, it would seem,” the snort Jason graces them with isn’t an attractive sound; isn’t even a relieving sound. Jason only ever sounds that high strung when he’s dealing with a bad bout of Pit madness. He doesn’t do anything violent though, just accepts the hot chocolate Alfred gives him and takes a large gulp (burning hot liquid be damned).

“Would you prefer hot chocolate or tea Master Damian, Mistress Cassandra?” Alfred directs towards the other two.

“Cookies,” Cass says with all the wisdom of being the eldest sibling present. Alfred doesn’t smile, but it looks like he wants to.

“I’m afraid homemade cookies might take some time Mistress Cassandra; may I suggest some biscuits to go with your drink of choice?” Alfred asks.

Cass hums in thought, before nodding her agreement. “Hot chocolate.”

“Of course, Master Damian?”

“Pennyworth,” Damian has this wonderful way of sounding completely scathing, all-knowing, while being the youngest person present. “Why are you making beverages when all this racket is going on? Surely you should be resolving this conflict!”

“It’s not Alfred’s job to resolve every stupid spat they have,” Jason grumbles. “They’re big kids, they can solve their own problems.”

“Pennyworth is more than qualified to solve their problems,” Damian argues, “I’m sure he-”

“Where your assurance in my skills is appreciated, young Master, I believe Master Jason is correct in this matter,” Alfred interrupts; proving he is fully qualified to stop an argument before it starts. “Master Bruce and Master Richard have never been one to listen to reason while they’re arguing. They’ll solve their problems, like the adults they are, in due time.”

The sudden silence behind the door almost has them believing Alfred’s words are prophetic. But it’s just a brief pause. Yelling continuing not long after.

“Now, would you like a drink Master Damian?”

_03:14. Alfred Pennyworth returns back to the kitchen, the comfort of his younger family members the only thing on his mind._

“I still think we should-”

“Younger brother,” Cass shushes, her gentle, relaxing brush of Damian’s short hair turning into playing with the few strands long enough to play with. “It will be fine.”

“But-”

“They always argue,” Jason takes an obnoxiously loud sip of his drink. “This isn’t anything new.”

“Not this loud,” Damian argues, even wants to argue that they never argue, but... well he’s learnt over the years that Grayson just doesn’t like arguing in front of him. “If we didn’t own the acres of land between us and the next house, we’d have had complaints by now.”

“They’re always this loud,” Jason blinks down at Damian confused. “I’ve never heard them have a quiet argument. They almost ruined a case once with their arguments.”

“Like Father would ruin a case for personal affairs,” Jason laughs at that. Not his full belly laughs that are needlessly loud, but it’s a near thing.

“When a case goes wrong it’s usually Bruce’s personal affairs. His relationships with Talia and Selena. His goody-two-shoes morals making everything worse. His dysfunctional family drama-”

“Like you?”

“Like Dick,” Jason’s grin became more vicious. Trying to hurt. “They weren’t always buddy-buddy. There’s a lot of drama between them and they’ve never found a middle ground. Dick has a habit of blowing up at good old Bruce and Bruce never listens. They’re probably-”

“Younger brother,” Cass shushes, reaching out to Jason and putting a soothing hand through Jason’s hair. “Enough now.”

Jason stills, but doesn’t knock Cass’ hand away. Let’s it brush through his hair ever so carefully. It’s been... a while since he’s had anyone do that. His teams out doing their own thing. His parents’ dead.

“I’m older,” Jason argues a second later and he’s had a moment to compose himself.

“You’re not,” Cass hums and continues to comfort her baby brothers.

_03:16am. Nothing has changed. The Wayne Manor still sounds like they hired a scremo band to play there (which wouldn’t be the weirdest thing Bruce Wayne had ever done)._

“Grayson and Father get along,” Damian says once the silence amongst the three of them seems endless.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Jason shrugs, leaning ever so slightly into Cass’ appreciated comfort.

_03:19am. Timothy Drake stumbles out of his room._

“What is going on?” He asks around a yawn and without any sign of fear or common sense sits right next to Jason, leaning his face against Jason’s thick arm.

“Mum and Dad are fighting,” Jason provides, sarcasm ringing from his every word.

“Uh-Huh,” Tim nods his head, the action slow and muted, leaving a trail of slobber on Jason’s arm. “I get that. What are we doing?”

“Waiting,” Cass supplies, at odds now she has three brothers before her. She only has two hands.

“Right, makes sense,” Tim says, the last word trailing into a half snore before his eyes jolt open. They’re bloodshot.

“Hardly,” Damian disagrees; born to be contrary. “What took you so long to come here? Sleep more important than potential danger?”

Tim snickers.

“One,” he lifts a finger slowly; it could potentially be for drama, but more likely from how heavy his limbs appear to be, “I haven’t been to sleep yet. Two,” two fingers rise, before Tim realises, he’s holding three up and corrects himself, “this is hardly dangerous and. Three,” Tim’s eyes fall shut for a second, before he remembers what he was in the middle of, “I could have just put earplugs in and gone to bed, but,” a yawn, “I thought I’d see what the problem is.” He looks triumphant for a second, before staring really hard at his hand. “What is the problem?”

“No idea,” Jason answers honestly. “Probably something stupid; 50-50 bet on who’s wrong considering the contenders.”

Tim snorts against Jason’s arm, it vibrates weirdly against his flesh. “I’d say your bias, but they’re both pretty stupid at times.”

“Hey!” Damian yelps: the kind of offended that comes from insulting someone’s favourite superhero. “Father and Grayson are not stupid! They’re a darn sight smarter than you, Drake.”

“Yeah right,” it would probably sound impressive; being that assured of himself, but it just comes out muffled together. More of a ‘y’ight’ than a ‘yeah right’. Damian somehow manages to interrupt the muffled words.

“You think you’re-!”

“Enough,” Cass says, softly. Calmly. Where it might usually involve needing a whole lecture to explain that there was enough arguing going on and they should NOT add to it; Cass just had this... way of appealing to people with a single word. It was beyond impressive.

They’re brought to silence again and Jason thinks, for a second, that it might be lasting this time, but-

“Yes, I do think I’m that smart,” Tim says, stupidly.

Cass taps him against the back of his head; not enough to hurt, but enough to promise pain.

Damian, intelligently, keeps his mouth shut.

_03:22. Alfred Pennyworth returns once again. A tray with three drinks on this time._

“I see we’ve been joined by Master Timothy as well, Master Jason,” Alfred says, handing out each drink. Even Tim is handed one.

“Coffee?” Tim asks, like a starved man.

“I don’t think coffee would be wise now will it, Master Timothy?” Alfred had a way of making you agree with him even if you really didn’t want to, with tone alone.

“Right,” Tim agrees, half-hearted, even as he gulps the drink down with gusto. Burnt mouth and all.

Damian patiently waits for his tea to cool down and Cass wraps her hands around the warm mug; never a doubt what was more worth her time. Alfred’s food and drinks over her brothers’ comfort 95% of the time.

“I’m assuming that’ll be all?” Alfred raises a brow.

“You know it,” Jason agrees. “I give them another ten minutes before Dick comes storming out.”

“I believe you’re putting too much good faith in them,” Alfred disagrees with a solemn shake of his head. “It’ll be at least another 15 minutes before Master Richard storms out.”

“I was taking into consideration that I haven’t been around for a decade. I thought, maybe, they’d have solved, some, of their problems by now,” Jason shakes his head, but he doesn’t seem too surprised.

“As I said Master Jason; too much faith,” Alfred tucks his platter beneath his arm and waits with them. He doesn’t sit down, just patiently stands beside them. He always patiently stands beside them.

“You... act like this happens all the time?” Tim grumbles, as carefully as a half-asleep man can, into Jason’s arm. A sudden, horrid, epiphany coming to him.

“I mean it does,” Jason says slowly, the same sudden, horrid, epiphany coming to him. “Sometimes a nightly occurrence.”

_03:24am. The Wayne family, legally dead or otherwise, suddenly come to the same conclusion. They’ve all experienced vastly different living situations._

“I mean... every night?” Tim asks, not sceptically. Hopefully.

“Every night Dick was in the manor,” Jason confesses, not looking at any of them. “Which admittedly was rare. Maybe two weeks- three weeks in total.”

“And you what... Did this every time?” Tim asks, gently. Jason hates being treated gently. He doesn’t need it.

“What makes you say that?” Jason questions, neither denying nor admitting. Not answering is a bigger answer than he wants.

“You... kind of fall into your habits, Jason,” Tim says, his hands holding his drink tighter. He looks suddenly awake. Wide awake. Jason wants to check he wasn’t accidentally provided coffee. “And this seems like a habit.”

“It’s not,” he denies straight up.

It is. He remembers a fifteen-year-old Jason, so much smaller than any fifteen-year-old deserves to be. Any fifteen-year-old should be. Sat in this very spot, biding his time. Debating if he should just run. Leave the Wayne manor behind him; leave the yelling and arguments. Then Alfred would appear, remind him of the good. Comfort him in his own way. One memorable time Alfred had left his stoic British act behind and gave him a hug. It was warm. Comforting. At least until Dick stormed out. Dick would confront him, say something snide, before Bruce put a stop to it. Dick would storm out and Bruce would be there to comfort Jason.

Jason didn’t get, at the time, why he was added to Dick’s arguments. Didn’t question Dick’s nickname after the first screaming match. Dick was a dick.

He knows now that it was anger and jealousy at being replaced. Anger about his mantle being passed on without his say. A new kid being adopted when back then... Dick hadn’t been. Jason gets it, especially when the Pit madness is at its finest, otherwise he wonders how the ever-charismatic Dick could reason yelling at a child completely unrelating to his problems. Bruce was at fault.

“If you say so,” Tim relents, even though Jason can tell he wants to argue. Tim will probably investigate later; he was never good at letting things go. He was like Bruce in that matter.

_03:29am. Silence had settled its intangible fingers around the throats of the group waiting outside. It failed to reach the lips of the two in Bruce’s office._

Tim shuffles. Awkward. Side eyes Jason. He knows Jason notices. Knows Jason is ignoring him. Should he-?

Cass touches his shoulder. It makes him jump. She squeezes lightly. He looks back at her. She nods her head lightly. Encouraging.

“So, what did they argue about back then?” Tim asks. A horrible question really, making someone relive their destructive past, but Tim is curious, and Jason is in denial. Tim’s not good enough to not take advantage of that.

“Who knows?” Jason shrugs, almost jogging the hot chocolate from both his and Tim’s hands. “They’d probably argue over the colour of the sky.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Tim admits. He’d personally never seen arguments _every_ time Bruce and Dick were near each other, but he had seen their arguments on odd occasions. They tended to involve a lot of yelling, a whole lot of ignoring the other and a whole lot of repetition. He’d thought Batman and Nightwing would understand repeating yourself louder and louder didn’t make your argument hold any more weight. Alas.

“It’s green,” Cass nods to herself seriously, trying to add some levity to the situation. Tim smiles at her and even Jason looks like he’s repressing an undignified laugh.

Of course, not everything could be sunshine and rainbows with Damian Wayne around.

_03:30am. Damian Wayne starts his own argument; truly his father’s child._

“Like you’re any better, Todd,” Damian glares, daring anyone to fight him. He chose the wrong audience.

“What’s that mean?” Jason says, his words deceptively calm.

“Exactly what I said. Are you hard of hearing suddenly? Then let me reiterate. Like. You. Are. Any. Better,” Damian spits the words out, eyes narrowed. If he were a cat his fur would stand at attention.

“Usually it’s more effective, when repeating yourself, to say exactly what you said,” Jason still has a thin veil of calm around him. “‘Like. YOU’RE. Any. Better. TODD’ is really how you should have phrased it.”

“Proving me right as always, _Todd_ ,” Damian rolls his eyes, feigning calm. “You really can’t help but start an argument can you?”

“You’re the one starting an argument, Demon Child-” Tim goes to say more, but Jason places a hand on his shoulder. It’s surprisingly gentle.

“No. He’s right,” Jason admits. “I can’t help but start an argument and aiming for a language and linguistics jab is pretty bad. I mean plenty of people have great reasons not to use proper grammar or excellent rhetorical skills. Hell! English isn’t even Damian’s first language.”

Jason pauses. Dramatic effect. He knows Alfred can tell from the way he sighs. Can tell Cass knows as she looks longingly between her mug and carefully to Jason. Can tell Tim knows something’s up by the tenseness that takes over his shoulders. Damian just gives him a suspicious glance; not trusting Jason’s words, but unsure how to take them.

“But I’m definitely right in every argument,” it may be a little egotistical to believe so, but Jason is a man of culture. He knows when best to let a little ego show. “Especially on the topic of killing.”

There’s a sigh from Tim. A shake of the head from Alfred. A flicked ear via Cass. And uncontrolled rage from Damian. He really is Bruce’s son.

_03:32am. Damian Wayne kicks Jason Todd._

Damian launches himself from the top step, using the different levitation to his advantage he lands a perfect kick to the top of Jason’s arm.

Jason doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch; just grins over at Damian.

“That’s all you’ve got?” He goads, amused.

With an enraged howl Damian goes for another kick, aiming ever so slightly higher. For the neck. Definitely a dangerous place to hit, but Damian has a way of teetering right along the edge of what Bruce says is alright. Jason debates dodging it, blocking it or letting it hit, but the choice is made for him.

Cass’ hand shoots out, catching Damian’s limb. Holding him still. All with one hand, her other still holding her hot chocolate steady.

“Master Damian, Master Jason; let’s not take inspiration from your father in this instance,” Alfred cuts in, his tone disappointed. Jason swears all parental figures learn how to be disappointed before anything else; it always cuts deeper than any other emotion they could show.

“Sorry Alfie,” Jason relents, his words as honest now as they were a second ago. He can be both cruel and kind without either being wrong. The world was like that. All shades of grey.

“Tt,” Damian tuts, wrenching his foot away from Cass’ grip. He only manages because she lets him. That means he probably wasn’t going to start another fight... or at least he wasn’t going to go straight into a physical fight.

“Very good, Young Masters,” Alfred says, his tone lighter than before. He was happy with them then. It was annoying how much that made Jason want to puff up with joy.

Of course, the sudden noise behind them made that feeling quickly shrivel up and die. 

_03:34am. The door to Bruce’s study opens._

Dick stands there his hand gripping the door handle tight. He looks half defeated, half like he’s trying to keep himself from saying anything. He doesn’t succeed at either.

“What are you lot doing here?” It starts kind of loud; the ‘what’ coming out ‘WHAT’ and the ‘are’ cracking his voice yet returning Dick’s volume back to his standard pitch and loudness. But it’s that sound disparity that makes Dick sound defeated, like he was slowly just accepting his fate. Whatever he imagines that fate to be.

Damian and Tim look like they’ve been reprimanded. Both looking anywhere but Dick, as though they had no right to sit in the hallways. Cass seems fine.

“I’m always here,” Jason says, lounging in a way that’s incredibly fake, but at least he’s escaped his balled-up posture finally. It had only been what? Half an hour?

“You always have, haven’t you?” Dick says and there’s a small smile. A smile that feels out of place after everyone’s heard him yelling for the past half an hour. A smile that feels out of place aimed at Jason.

“Dick!” It’s not yelled loudly, but it sounds like screaming when coming from Bruce. Dick grimaces.

“I’m out of here Bruce!” He yells back, can’t help himself even if it means Damian looking frantically between them. Eyes panicked. “You coming, Jay?”

Jason snorts. “What makes you think I’m heading off with you?”

“Like you ever stuck around long in the past,” it’s... true. Jason often snuck out after calming Bruce down or on one memorable occasion ran off mid argument with Dick. He just didn’t think Dick would remember.

Jason sighs, standing up. The movement looks mechanical and Tim grumbles, still kind of sleeping on Jason. “Fine,” he chugs the last of his drink and passes it to Alfred. “Thanks for the drink, Alf.”

“You’re most welcome, Master Jason,” Alfred says, eye trailing Jason’s descending form (not bothering to bid anyone a farewell). “Remember you’re always welcome at the manor.”

Jason hums to acknowledge the words but doesn’t falter. He needs out. Now.

Dick doesn’t take long to catch up, even though he gives everyone (minus Bruce) a meaningful farewell. A shoulder pat here. A discrete word there. He caught up probably due to the speed he puts in to catch up to Jason, full on leaping down the staircase. Damn acrobat.

“Well this is different,” Dick says and sounds far too calm for someone who’s voice has cracked from strenuous use twice already.

Jason hums his agreement, shoving his hands in his pockets. He could use a cigarette.

“I mean I always regretted how my and Bruce’s arguments ended in the past. Always regretted yelling at you,” Dick confesses, and he sounds sincere. Dick always sounds sincere.

“Before or after my death?” Jason asks, maybe cruelly, but no one ever said Jason was a kind man. OK, they had, but they were swiftly brought up to scratch. Jason Todd was not a man to trifle with. He’d rather shoot you than listen to your excuses.

Dick grimaces.

“Jay- Jason,” the word is said solemnly. Jason’s name is often said like that. “I did mourn for you and have... so many regrets regarding your death. Have for years, but that didn’t mean I didn’t regret the arguments at the time. Every time I yelled at you; I’d always feel dreadful once the anger at Bruce died down; however temporary. I’d always tell myself I’d do better next time, but well... you know how that went,” he did. It was dreadful. “And when you died, I regretted the entire time not being a better brother. That I never showed you I could be a brother you could be proud of. That I could be better.”

Jason’s silent. He could remain silent for hours if he needed. He had that talent beaten into him on the street, had it taught professionally by Bruce and refined by Talia. Silence was an old friend of Jason’s, but... it felt too cruel. To cruel today.

He tightens his hands into unseen fists in his pockets.

“Yeah... well, you’re not doing too bad right now,” he almost hisses the words, not wanting them to leave his mouth.

Dick lights up; like a puppy with a new toy. His arm wraps around Jason’s shoulder, drawing him in for a half hug. He really doesn’t look like he’s been in an argument with Bruce, then again... Jason doesn’t look like he’s barely keeping a grip on his sanity.

“We should go for ice cream!” Dick cheers. “There’s that place that’s always open-”

“Sprinkles?”

“Yes! I always love trying their new flavours. They never fail me,” unlike Bruce. The words are suppressed, but there. They’re always there Jason knows; has experienced this extensively. They love Bruce, but they don’t agree with everything that Bruce believes. The things Bruce believes... he makes his identity. They love Bruce; they hate Bruce. It’s a complicated relationship.

_03:39am. Jason Todd and Richard, Dick, Grayson leave the Wayne manor through a secret side entrance. Each of them rides their own motorbikes._

Driving into town doesn’t take long. Wayne manor is far out, but the secret caves that all lead to the Batcave send them pretty close to the town. The underground system of Gotham a weird one. It’s also doesn’t take long seeing as the two of them are rich due to parental figures and can afford the best technology. The best and fastest.

It becomes a race.

Each trying to beat the other to the ice cream parlour, while trying to avoid speed cameras and the police. Not that much would come from getting caught by the police... not much would happen to Dick if he were caught by police. Every officer knew of the oldest Wayne kid. Jason might get booked; he had a look that put others at unease.

_03:47am. Dick Grayson and Jason Todd enter an ice cream parlour. Order themselves different flavours of ice cream, Neapolitan for Jason, cookie dough for Dick._

“That’s still cheating,” Jason insists throwing himself onto the flimsy plastic seats that are pushed up to one side of their table.

“It’s not cheating, it’s determination,” Dick disagrees, sliding into the cushioned seats opposite Jason. “You weren’t dedicated enough to win so you didn’t.”

“Getting a speeding ticket should have penalties!” Jason flails his arms out. Dick is impossible.

“It did,” Dick grins. “I have to pay a fine now.”

“You mean you’re going to make Bruce pay a fine,” Jason corrects automatically.

“He’d deserve it,” Dick says. It’s not meant to sound quite so... vindictive. But it does. It really does.

“Well, you wouldn’t hear any different from me,” and you usually wouldn’t. Bruce is just a complicated topic Jason prefers to ignore. You know when it’s possible to ignore a 6ft man dressed as a bat.

Dick’s silent. His leg jittering up and down as Jason leans back, one arm thrown over the back of his chair. It’s surprising what a thrilling race across Gotham can do; what breaking the speed limit can do. Well, for adrenaline junkies and these two must be adrenaline junkies. Normal people don’t jump across rooftops to save lives.

“I am sorry,” Dick looks awkward, the words slipping out muffled past the lip he can’t stop biting.

“What for?” Jason snorts with a shrug. “Honestly, this is almost exactly how I remember it always being.”

Dick winces and it’s almost understandable, he had confessed a little over ten minutes ago that he wishes the past hadn’t happened as it had. Jason doesn’t care. The past is the past. The streets had taught him not to cling uselessly to it; Bruce has just proved the streets of Gotham right.

“I invited you with me to be spiteful,” Dick admits, he’d probably curl in on himself if he was any other man. Dick Grayson is too confident (too much of an acrobat) to diminish his body posture. Any other man would be squirming.

“Well it’s not like I wasn’t planning to leave anyway,” Jason can’t fault someone for being spiteful. He finds that’s how he’s managed to carry on in life.

“Yeah... I know,” it’s was hard enough to get Jason to stay at the manor, let alone- “It’s just... I know Bruce was pretty happy you finally agreed to stay over for the night. You’re usually running off, even injured, and I- well I wanted to hurt Bruce really. So, denying him the comfort of you being there-”

“Dick,” Jason really needs him to stop speaking. He doesn’t want to think of Bruce... missing him. No. That’s too- “Are you looking for some reassurance that you’re not a bad person? Wanting to feel worse by me agreeing with you? I need something to go on, so what’s your poison?”

“Wha- That’s not what I- You’re a real jerk at times Jason,” Dick sighs, a small smile on his lips. “Why do I ever invite you out anywhere?”

“Beats me,” Jason shrugs. “I think I’ll start wearing a shirt simply labelled ‘jackass’. Maybe then you’ll remember I’m not the best for polite civilisation.”

“I don’t think anyone is fit for polite civilisation in our family,” Dick shakes his head. “Did you know Damian cut me with his sword when we first met? And Tim’s room... yeah. Don’t walk into that war zone.”

“Then what about Cass? Surely we have one sane member of our family?” Jason jokes.

“Cass is our shining beacon of light. The only reason we’re not completely hopeless. It doesn’t make sense considering who’s our-” Dick cuts himself off. His traitorous mind not leaving the argument alone. He grimaces.

Jason sighs.

“Look,” Dick is suddenly pointed at by a rather intimidating spoon; all long and slender. “The way I see it, you want a pity party-”

“I don’t want a pity party-”

“You want a pity party. Want to complain about Bruce and life and honestly,” Jason gestures to himself. “I’m your best bet to complain. I’m not disillusioned about how great Bruce is and I completely endorse insulting Bruce. And, to top things off, we’re at the best place for a pity party.”

“An ice cream parlour?” Dick questions, he sounds sceptical at first, but slowly it dawns on him.

“Yes, an ice cream parlour,” Jason gestures around them. “Ice cream is the best comfort food; it’s probably the only reason this place is open so late. Gothamites need to find their comfort somewhere.”

Dick pauses. Stares at Jason. Stares at him long and hard.

“I... I’m not sure I want to complain about Bruce,” Dick’s honest. Bruce... frustrates him, but... ultimately, he’s family and- well he doesn’t want to destroy his relationship with Bruce completely. Not anymore at least.

“Have a different pity party then. Doesn’t have to be about Bruce; there’s plenty wrong with the world. Take the mayor’s secretary that was-”

“No work,” Dick says. Grimacing. Was that what his and Bruce’s argument had been about? Probably. Work always got Bruce’s blood pumping on and off the field.

“No work,” Jason agrees easily. “Can always complain about global warming and how we’re irreparably destroying the world we’re living in. Or we can complain about Kori’s fashion sense and how she tried to get me and Roy to dress in some weird alien bondage gear the other day-”

Dick shakes his head, clearly amused. Kori has probably done the same to him.

“I mean I’m totally down for all sorts of clothes, not judging... that’s a lie I judge; that first Nightwing outfit you had, that was dreadful- the feathers! - but Kori-”

“One, that outfit was amazing,” Dick stands up. “Two. We’ll have this pity party of yours, but first let’s order more ice cream.”

Dick flashes a card that Jason knows belongs to Bruce. Dick’s still feeling spiteful then. Jason grins.

“Sounds good,” Jason agrees even though neither of them have finished their current treats.

_04:01am. Bruce Wayne’s credit card is charged for enough ice cream to feed the homeless for a week straight._

**Author's Note:**

> Another old Batfam fic I found while cleaning up my computer! Not sure if it's as good as the other one I found (I wrote this over three years ago), but I still enjoy it (even if I had to edit it SO much to even be readable XD). Hope you enjoy this piece as well! 
> 
> Until next time. See ya when I see ya x


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